


Thirty Four Cycles Old and All She Got for Her Birthday was Assimilated

by AreYouReady



Category: Star Trek: Picard
Genre: Assimilation, Body Horror, Dehumanization, F/F, Gen, Horror, but distinctly horny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:26:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23499736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AreYouReady/pseuds/AreYouReady
Summary: An alternate conclusion to Seven and Narissa's fight.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 24





	Thirty Four Cycles Old and All She Got for Her Birthday was Assimilated

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is titled with exactly as much respect as Narissa deserves.  
> Edit: some people have interpreted this joke as an indication that this fic is some kinda revenge on Narissa for being a "bitch" or whatever. Let it be known that I respect all varieties of bitches, monsters, and mean, evil motherfuckers. Narissa, however, is a clown joke villain that the writers put in because Picard is not a very good show. I don't hate Narissa, however I will absolutely acknowledge that her existence is a clown joke and a result of poor worldbuilding and cowardice on the part of the writers, necessitating a flat, pointless "baddie" to pawn off their conflict onto instead of actually examining the idea that maybe the Federation is wrong sometimes. 
> 
> Happy First Contact Day, this is the first Star Trek fic I've written in a long while.

Well-placed honesty was underrated by most Romulans. Narissa had always believed this. If one viewed honesty as a weakness, or at best a lack of subtlety, one could not slide a knife of revealing truth into the cracks of an opponent’s psychological defenses.

This was not why Narissa had admitted that she found the Borg creature attractive.

No, unfortunately, the reason she had done that was because she needed to think of something, anything, to disconcert her opponent, and since this fight was going to end with only one of them alive, it really didn’t matter if her jibes were pointlessly revealing. Either the Borg would be too dead to remember, or she herself would be too dead to care.

“Sad queen Annika, six years old and all she got for her birthday was assimilated.” Narissa winced internally, another disappointingly obvious insult. But it seemed to have been effective, as the Borg rushed her, its face twisting in anger. Narissa ducked, noticing as she did so the pleasing flex of muscle under its thin shirt. 

Distracted desire turned to a wave of revulsion. A momentary thought had led her to imagine what that body might look like unveiled, and she had seen in her mind’s eye the cybernetic horrors which must surely twist throughout the creature’s flesh, pocking and warping its skin. Narissa dodged another blow, but far less expertly, and the Borg managed to graze her face. She slapped a hand to it as she stood to her full height, without realizing she had left herself open. Would it even have a pulse? 

Narissa felt herself double over in pain. Before she could react, a hand closed around her throat, and whatever breath she still had was knocked out of her as her body slammed against the wall. Agony shot through her head, and she saw bright lights.

But the Borg did have a pulse. Once her vision cleared, she could see it, pounding in the creature’s neck. Could feel the hot breath against her face. Could feel the fingers cutting off her air.

She imagined the machines turning in its chest to make that simulacrum of life.

“Why didn’t you just put a phaser to your head,” she gasped, “and get it over with?”

“Because I still had this to live for,” the vile thing growled. Narissa became suddenly aware of a horrific shifting behind it, a black tentacle falling from the ceiling of the ship. The Borg’s body stiffened, and its hand tightened on Narissa’s throat. It closed its eyes, and when it opened them again, a ghastly green light shone through them. Narissa felt the very body of the ship shift behind her, as she was grasped by a thousand metal claws.

She could hear herself screaming. Her flesh tore and was reshaped. But she could still think, she was not broken, every torture she had endured kept her sane, and if she could only break free-

She felt the drill enter her eye. 

Pain would be an incorrect term for the sensation. It was not pain, but pure abomination, a twisting, warping corruption. It slowly extended into her. Further. Deeper. Touching something within her that nothing had ever touched. No torture device, or telepathic weapon. Not even the Admonition.

Narissa was… she was…

Nothing.

First of Many fell to its knees before its Queen. She was beautiful. 


End file.
